The Wizard And The Warlord by Elizabeth Boyer Page B

fellows, all of them, but they’d be lost in a day without someone to tell them what to do almost every minute of their lives. So I’ve decided to forbid you to the hall beyond an hour after the evening meal. It won’t be of any consequence to you; you’ll be far too tired after your daily schedule of lessons in weaponry. I also think it expedient to assign you to a daily stint of guard duty. That should keep you busy and out of mischief, as well as out of Jotull’s way.”
    Rolfr shot Sigurd a commiserating giance. Assignment to the day watch was a great disgrace for a warrior. Old women and young lads usually watched in the daylight hours, and often it was hot and always it was dull. The worst part about it was the fact that one could not stand watch all day long and expect to hobnob with his cronies at night or to ride patrol. No punishment affected the lighthearted Alfar more adversely than the curtailment of their social life.
    “Then I’ll take the day shift also,” Rolfr said, after only a slight hesitation. “Don’t worry, Siggi, I won’t mind it.”
    “It was good of you to volunteer, Rolfr,” Halfdane said. “It spares me the necessity of ordering you to do it. You’ll spend your mornings with your instructors and your afternoons on the earthworks. One day in ten for liberty and one hour every night after the meal. Sigurd, I won’t expressly forbid your friendship with Jotull, but neither will I encourage it, understand? If so, you may go to Skefill now for your first lesson.”
    Rolfr’s mouth fell open. “But—you mean for us to begin right now, after only a few hours’ sleep?”
    Sigurd nudged him sharply and said in a bitter tone, “Why not, Rolfr? We’re not children and we won’t complain.”
    “Not half as much as old Skefill will,” Rolfr muttered as they left the hall. Sigurd looked back at Halfdane, who glowered after them in his own peculiarly disagreeable manner.
    Nothing matched the dreariness of the day schedule of Hrafnborg. Once their lessons with Skefill were over, there was nothing to do but watch the shepherd boys tending their sheep on the neighboring fells, the hobbled horses grazing around the earthworks, and a little girl whose job it was to tend a flock of geese. Sigurd learned to beguile the time by practicing his limited knowledge of magic. Much against the better wishes of Rolfr, Sigurd spent his free hour at night with Jotull, who taught him a short lesson in power each night. As a result, Sigurd was plagued more than ever by the malicious ill luck that followed him. Whenever he was uncomfortable or near someone he didn’t like, such as Halfdane, straps and strings had a way of breaking, hanging objects fell to the ground, flies made the horses kick, and anything in his hands seemed to leap away on a mission of destruction and embarrassment to Sigurd.
    Ragnhild was as good as a magnet for untoward occurrences. She began to take notice of Sigurd the day after Halfdane’s chastisement and subsequent assignment to the day shift. She walked past Sigurd on the earthworks each day as part of her constitutional. For eight days, she only looked at him coldly and marched on, like a queen looking at a low specimen of bog creature. After withering him with her silent scorn, she walked to the stable, where her particularly fine horse awaited her. With the attendance of three archers, she left the hill fort for a ride to the end of the valley. Bees seldom failed to appear, making her horse skittish, or small rocks pelted her or her horse or the attendants. At the very least, a wicked little gust of wind buffeted her hair and tumbled her cloak. Sigurd didn’t particularly wish it, but he couldn’t help feeling flustered and uneasy when she made such a point of presenting herself to his notice. He couldn’t imagine any attachment on her side, and he had no delusions about trying to win the kinswoman of Halfdane, even if Rolfr hadn’t already claimed that dubious privilege.